


savor

by ghostsman



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Body Worship, Cabin Fic, Cunnilingus, F/M, Food, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, frank being gentle, karen telling frank to chill tf out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsman/pseuds/ghostsman
Summary: Karen cooks a meal and he feasts.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	savor

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> slight barely existent canon divergence. just a cabin in winter with pwp, some food, and feelings. 
> 
> i wrote this and ran so expect grammar mistakes galore.

One day, he is taken by the hands and dragged to the couch by Karen Page.

They’re in the government-appointed cabin, set up in Northern Maine, surrounded by three feet of snow and trees the size of tires. He thought he’d hate it up here, with its deer heads and plaid, but he came to appreciate it. 

It was inevitable though, the talk. It was something he had anticipated three months down the road. For the first time in a while, he was optimistic. 

She’s tucking her legs under her, staring down at their joined hands. 

He’ll make this easy on her. He says, “I get it, Karen. I’m tough to live with.”

Karen meets his eyes, the weight draining from her features. She’s nodding and opens her mouth but he cuts her off. “They can set me up in another one of these cabins a couple of miles down the road. I’ll be out of your hair by Monday.”

He’d collect his bag, his guns, and the few things he had left. Frank would still be able to keep an eye on her, hell, if she screamed loud enough he could get here minutes. He’d had to keep her safe with more distance than this and he’d do it again if he had to. Frank could admit that he really, really didn’t want to do that. 

“Wait, Frank𑁋 hold up,” Karen says, extricating one hand to place on his chest. “I don’t want you gone. I want you to chill out.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that. He was already wondering what they’d do about Max, who was currently spread eagle on a heating pad Karen put out for him. His tongue was trailing across the hardwood and gathered a small puddle of drool there. 

Karen followed his eyesight and nodded excitedly. “See, like Max.”

“Lazy fuck isn’t in the job description, Karen,” he says, but he feels his eyes soften on Max. God, he loves that dog. 

“And neither is not sleeping in favor of cleaning your guns,” she shoots back. 

He didn’t have a choice. He can’t help it; the four hours he gets with his arms wrapped around her, his forehead resting against the back of her neck, and Max snoring at the foot of the bed, are the most solid four hours he gets in a day. 

But then, he’s restless. Staring through the blinds in the living room, the wood creaking all around them. Long drawls echoing around the property that isn’t quite wind. He only realizes he’s been standing in front of the window for too long when the sky peaks of grey-blue-orange.

He lets out a deep breath. “So what should I do instead?” 

Karen’s eyes search his face but he’s got nothing for her. Guns need to be cleaned. He won’t be unprepared. 

“I’m not trying to change you, Frank,” she starts, “but we’re not out there waiting to be attacked. It’s not just survival anymore.”

He takes in the worry on her face, the hunch in her back, and thinks, not for the first time, how did we end up here?

“Hey, I want to make dinner tonight,” Karen says. She’s already unfolded herself from the couch to stretch out one long leg over him, hands pressing his shoulders till he’s flush with the couch. She always has his attention but now? The only trap he’d willingly step into every single time. 

They’ve had nothing but pantry food and takeout from the one shitty pizza place in town. The coffee machine was the only appliance he thought worked in the place. Her fingers move up his shoulders, tilting his neck up. She leans down till the silk of her hair covers them both and whispers, “Relax, Frank.”

She hops off him. Kisses the palm of his hand and leaves him alone on the couch with nothing but a drooling dog and his body on fire. 

Karen leaves him alone for the rest of the afternoon. He hears the clanging of pots and pans and every once in awhile whispered, jesus fuck shit. 

He stretches out on the couch and tries to close his eyes but after a while it starts driving him crazy. The sounds in the cabin, the sounds outside, sounds not even from this part of the world. The smell of gunpowder and blood. The taste of dirt in his mouth. Feeling every past wound like a livewire. 

Frank ends up taking Max for a walk around the property. It’s the dead of winter in St. Croix so they can’t be out for too long but he steps through the snow wherever Max goes, sniffing, ears turned, and noses through the clearing with ease. It’s hard to relax so he stops trying to. 

It’s one of those days where he couldn’t guess the time of day even with a gun to his head. But he stayed outside on the porch once Max went in. Reading and staring out at the property surrounding him. 

He liked it here. The winter was rotten but he could see under the snow and past the dead branches that in the summer, this place must shine. There was a creek about half a mile that was currently frozen over but Frank could imagine the flutter of water on rocks. The main river was close too. 

He hasn’t been in the water in years now. He’d like to see Karen in a bathing suit out there, long legs coming out of the water till she stood over him. The pale skin of hers would burn out there if she wasn’t careful but he’d tan easily. He always had. Frank could run out there once the frost lets up, hike the trails until his lungs seize and he gets used to the altitude. He could add more weights, get stronger, and push himself further. 

Frank blinks and continues to stare out over the trees, actually seeing them again. It was nice out here. 

Karen was calling his name. And when he walks into the cabin, the heat attacks him immediately, moving closer to his skin as he sheds off the heavy jacket, the first sweatshirt underneath. 

The smells reached him at once and he breathed in deeply, bringing him back somewhere to Maria’s cooking, the kids running around trying to see who could set the table the fastest. 

Warm and fragrant. Onions, he thinks, drenched in something meaty. Sweet like roasted carrots and fresh rosemary. His mouth watered. 

The entire living area of the cabin felt gentle. Like home. 

“Frank, I𑁋” Karen came around the corner, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. She smiled at him, softly. “I can’t get this wine opener to work. Could you give it a try?”

Yes, he could. Her hair was pulled back and he could see the red spots appearing on the high points of her cheeks. The cork came off easy and he poured the wine. The glasses felt breakable cupped in between his palm and fingers. 

“Food will be done in a minute...It just has to rest!” Karen called out. A hiss and a muttered shit followed.

Frank looked at the table set for two. There was even a candle. 

He cleared his throat because something was threatening to puke out of him. “You need any help, Kar?” 

“No, no!” Further away and then rearing the corner with oven mitts on holding an entire pot roast. His eyes widened. “Done, it’s done.”

She set it down on the heat protectors and sat down. It was quiet as they served each other, sipping the wine. Frank felt an unbearable emotion rise up in him as he spooned baby carrots and fingerling potatoes onto his plate. 

“This looks amazing,” was the best he could come up with. Words weren’t going to do this justice. 

Karen smiled at him from behind her glass and says, “If you could believe it, not one thing out of a can.”

She must’ve gone to the grocery store at some point. Suddenly the thought of all the canned tuna he’s eaten in the past few weeks made his stomach knot. 

He cuts into the roast, takes a bite, and nearly moans out loud. It was hot, cooked in an oven for hours hot, and delicious. Garlic, a little peppery, a touch of brown sugar. The fat of the meat was perfectly rendered and melting in his mouth. Potatoes with a crispy outside, a perfect bite all the way through. The carrots and onions are sweet, caramelized almost. The wine, perfectly tart. 

If this was his last meal, he would not leave this world hungry. 

He ate until he was near bursting, belly full. Frank took the plates to the kitchen, washed up. When he came back, Karen was on the couch flicking through the channels.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her soft, deep. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in quick. “Thank you,” he says, for what she did, for what she always does. 

Caring for him. 

The warmth of her mouth, tasting like spices and wine, relaxing him bone-deep. 

It was a quiet night. They put on a documentary series, something about ghost hauntings. Karen laid up on top of him, his legs stretched out, with Max gnawing on a hide in front of the fireplace and somewhere during that, he found himself closing his eyes, his heartbeat steady and slowing, falling asleep with Karen rubbing lines down his forearm. 

He awoke sometime later with the lights still on and the home screen running on a loop. 

Karen had fallen asleep too. Her cheek to his chest and her hands sandwiched between his shoulders and the couch. He moved slowly, brushing the hair out of her face until her eyelashes fluttered and opened. 

“Bed,” was all he said and they rearranged themselves like zombies walking to the other room, the strength of having just awoken nonexistent. 

Karen looked like she would pass out immediately upon hitting the pillow but he sat her on the bed. Frank kneeled down in front of her, moved her so her arms were raised above her head. 

He lifted the sweater up over her head, careful to not tangle with her hair. The long sleeve tee shirt too. The whole night had turned soft and slow as soon as he walked into the cabin hours ago. The lights were off but he could feel the warmth from the fire, from the food Karen cooked, from somewhere even deeper inside. 

Frank didn’t say anything and neither did Karen. She lifted her leg up a bit, signaling him to start on the jeans, the layers of socks until she was only in a tank top and underwear. 

Frank kneaded the ball of her left foot, then the right, not wanting the cold to touch her. He smoothed his hand up her calves, behind her knee, held her there from his position on the floor. 

Keeping things slow, taking his time. 

Savoring. 

She made noises, tiny inhales, and caught breaths. Like she didn’t want to break the silence either. 

It’s in this moment that the adrenaline his body runs off of doesn’t hurt, not even a little. 

He slides her up the bed, her legs miles long in the dark of night. He wants to taste, to touch. He wants to lose himself entirely in the bend of her neck where she arches like she wouldn’t mind that if he did. 

Frank’s hands can move slow when he wants to. Even he surprises himself sometimes. He smoothes her out over the bed, leans over her from his position at her ankles. He kisses where she wants, where he wants: her neck. Soft and warm against her pulse feels his mouth cradle it for one beat, two. 

Grazes his teeth to her collarbone. Her hips jump at that but he places a hand there, the bump of bone down. He can taste her afternoon on the thin of her wrist, the spices heady there. The olive oil sweet down her forearm. 

Karen’s hands grip the sheets around and they open and close, like she’s going to move his head where she wants and he wants to beg her to do just that, to get what she can from him, to take everything he has to offer. 

He slides the tank top up to the top of her breasts, watches her chest move up and down from the light of the window. He puts his mouth there, on the underside of her breast, and sucks. 

“Fuck,” Karen moans. Her eyes are open now and looking down on him. Cupping her breast in his hand, her nipples peaked in his palm, while his mouth tastes the skin there. 

It’s like once she’s made a noise she can’t stop now. Her mouth open, chest flushed and gasping. Frank moves down her belly, where her hips meet her waist and taste her heartbeat down there too. She’s so soft everywhere, opening up around him, her hips widening to make space for him to lie down there. 

When he tastes where she’s hottest, he moans. 

Gone is the food from earlier just the taste of a woman on his tongue. Where she’s soft, he’s hard. The pads of his fingers sound in his ears as they drag up her body to hold onto her ribcage. Every brush of his bears on the insides of her thighs, rough, abrasive. 

He breathes her in, laves the flat of his tongue, and dives deeper. When she rolls her hips, she drags noises out of him. 

Frank takes one hand, two fingers, presses in slightly under his chin where she’s wet and bearing down. Nose pressed in, her body isn’t soft anymore, just a long line of tension ready to snap. 

He feels it wind from her chest, the flutter of her belly, and braces down. Closing his lips on her clit and sucking hard as his fingers push in. 

She breaks, like a crashing wave, back arched and suspended, altogether not breathing. Until she does, gasping for air, hands uncurling from the sheets to gasp his jaw where he’s not letting up. 

She pulls on him, brings him to her. 

He kisses her till she breathes more evenly. Till she sighs into his mouth and curls her hand into his hair. She feels warm against him. 

When she starts to fall asleep, he pushes the heavy blanket over both of them. Keeps them both warm for the night, full until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to hear what you guys think! <3


End file.
